


leave it to the land

by empires



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Borderlands (Video Games), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mad Max Fusion, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Bad Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Gun Violence, Human Experimentation, M/M, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Science Fiction, Size Difference, dubious spelling, suggested cannibalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2019-11-13 18:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18036761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empires/pseuds/empires
Summary: Dick has one job to do while wandering the harsh lands of Pandora: keep his head down and collect information. But his latest discovery has him reconsidering those mission orders.





	1. A Cry for Help

**Author's Note:**

> A few things.
> 
> 1\. In a bit of a writing slump right now, so I'm easing back into it by bringing another unfinished tumblr series to AO3. You're welcome.  
> 2\. This au is set in the Boarderlands universe popularized on the series of video game titles (specifically boarderlands 2). It is a brutal, mad max inspired weird west place and in some ways, reflects the excessive violence and horror that's in the series. There's humor two. And an expansive backstory of how the DCU has been smashed into this one.  
> 3\. When I first saw the half-mask incarnation of red hood’s costume, I immediately thought he looked like a cross between raziel, the protagainst from legacy of kain series, and a labrat, an enemy type from the boarderlands series. Here’s me working through this change in fictive form.  
> 4\. No beta. All mistakes are mind.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

The glaring sun was the only witness to Dick’s mad run across the barren landscape. On the horizon, heat swirled like fat gouts of gaseous flame. At his heels, dust clouded the air with red, chalky sand. From the west, trailing winds pelted him with red sands and blasted away every footstep he made. They were all evidentiary signs of the Badlands he traversed. Yet, on the planet Pandora, where anarchy and chaos fight for primacy, the entire world radiated bad. 

Despite the terrible conditions, the heat and dust coating his skin and the heaviness of his pack a burden cutting into his skin, Dick never slowed. No true borders existed on his mental map, no arbitrary lines bound by natural topography to separate territories, but Dick hadn’t seen a pillar of remains in nearly two klics. He’d probably hit a safer area. But not safe. He did not stop running.

Eventually, the remains of the road that connected the once abandoned power station to Rionatlx appeared. Dick veered toward it and the promise of the outpost growing like a stubborn weed at the badland’s edge. The landscape changed around him. Rock formations with striated colors weathered into their sides towered over shifting sands that gave way gristle and valley grass staking its slow march towards supremacy. The yellow-tipped plants bent under his feet were a sign of nearby water. Steps later, Dick tasted the humidity in the air, and soon, the river surfaced to soothe the parched earth. More straggly plants appeared, their withered berries bobbing as Dick stampeded past. Idly, he recognized them as gringers and safe to eat, which was a miracle. The majority of Pandora’s flora and fauna had developed a taste for humans and not the other way around. 

The outpost sat on the next rise, a lone metal tower standing sentinel still against the skyline. Rionatlx was still some klics beyond etched into the red mountains at the river’s origin. Dick’s heart rattled against its cage of blood and bone, and his legs throbbed in agony, but still he ran, pumping his legs until he reached the hill’s crest and the long pillar of shade cast by the tower’s great height.

A piercing whistle snatched Dick’s attention. He skidded to a halt, spinning the long rifle over his shoulders and aming it at the tower’s railed balcony in one smooth motion. Sweat dribbled down from his temple, the back of his neck. He was a soggy mess of a man, but he ignored the discomfort a finger steady on the trigger. After a moment, a familiar voice lights from the tower’s shadowy depths. It’s tone was dark with amusement. 

“Damn but you’re a skittish one, vault hunter. Something chasing you?”

Something was chasing him. Something had driven him out of the depths of Pandoranian hell at full speed. Sent him over the sandy dunes with his heavy gun beating at his back and the sun beating on his head as he ran back to the town. Had staring dumbstruck at Roy while trying to piece together what it was that needed to be said to keep this chain of events rocketing forward. He had a plan. He had a debt. He had to move.

But that tone. It got under his skin in a way only one other person’s ever had, and Dick reacted to the challenge there.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Dick shouted. 

“You said I should always warn you before approaching you.”

“Yeah, well. Find a better way to do it. You almost got a bullet in your eye.”

Tics later, Roy Harper sauntered onto the balcony, hands shading his eyes against the beaming sun. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” Dick slung his gun back into place. But privately, he admitted Roy was right to sound so sure and smug. He must really be off his predetermined baseline if a local like Roy could read him so easily.

“You gonna tell me what this is all about, vault hunter?”

The thing chasing him, driving him, motivating him was something he’d all but lost in the thirteen months he’d managed to survive on this planet: compassion. It burned inside him like a newly lit fire, and after he coughed up the fumes of his remaining apathy and spat it into the air, another word he’d all but forgotten broke free.

“Help. Harper, I need help.” Dick’s voice rang in the air.

Roy leaned over the crumbling railing. “I always knew you’d beg pretty, vault hunter. Didn’t think you’d be doing it from so far away though. How can I fulfill that desperate need?”

“You can give me a ride for starters. Wait, make that two. I need you to take me back to the power station. I also need quiet place to rest after. Private and dark. I need it now.” Dick added, voice questioning, but it wasn’t directed towards Roy, which would intrigued him further. 

“What about the bandits?”

“I took care of them.”

Roy’s gaze shifted to the horizon and he stood staring for long moments as if he expected a fleet to appear at any moment. “You sure about that?”

Dick nodded.

“And what am I gonna get for my trouble?”

“Anything.”

Roy leaned back, a slow grin spreading across his lips. “Is that a fact?” 

Dick met his gaze without wavering, made no move towards the weapons strapped at his back and thighs, not even a twitch of his fingers despite the brazen calculation on Roy’s face. He needed Roy to go along with him on this venture without question. Owing the scout could secure his cooperation.

“It’s a favor from a friend,” he replied. “And we all know a helping hand is needed out here.”

“Well then, it looks like we have a deal,” Roy said, licking his lips. “When do you need to head out.”

“Now.”

“Then let’s get moving!” 

With a wild shout, Roy sprang over the railing and dropped four floors down to the blasted earth, his high topknot trailing behind him like a furious streamer. He rolled into loping jog that lead him to the rusted Catch-A-Ride system at the tower’s rear. A flash of replicated construction later, and the Technical came wheeling from the beneath the gate on oversized tires that elevated the vehicle’s bulky frame, horn blaring angrily. 

“Get in!”

Dick took a running leap at the heavy duty all terrain pathfinder, bouncing into the flatbed as the vehicle shot back into the horizon.

 

* * *

 

Hands settled on hips, Roy surveyed the bandit bodies strewn across the stone courtyard. He spat at their feet but couldn’t quite find the sympathy for the hungry pawns shed from the highly fractious interests dividing Pandora. Those same interests turned tail once it was discovered that the flora, fauna, and settlers would not be tamed. The people left behind had a choice to make. Many, like the bandits chose to become marauders that terrorized the people trying to eke out more than a day-to-day grind for survival. 

These bandits had taken over the power station six months ago, cutting the connection to the struggling outpost still working to protect its denizens from the horrors outside the wall. Until Dick Grayson blew into the town and decided the bandits had to go.

Dick was an oasis amidst the bleak landscape of Pandora. He helped people without asking, which was strange, and the things he asked for in return--water, a story, information--were stranger still, even for a vault hunter. His laughter, frequent and bright, lacked the mad edge found in most people. And he’s nice to look at from any angle, lean, strong, and wickedly sharp in all the places he wasn’t soft. His pretty blue eyes were haunting, brilliant and violent as the blue skies before a sudden storm, and woe betide the person on the other edge of that stare. Those eyes were how Roy knew Dick was dangerous, in addition to him still being alive that is.

“Damn. You really did clean them out,” Roy mused.

“I said I did.”

“And you managed to get this place running again?”

The pistons churning above the power station was testament to the validity of the story Dick conveyed over the rattling engine on the ride back to this hell hole.

“Connected the town back to the grid too. That council of yours need to set up a real presence at this facility to make sure the bandits don’t try to take it back. Maybe a fast travel station.” Dick removed his equipment and slide it through a narrow path through the junked-up bandit fortifications. Next, he wedged himself between a blockade of welded metal and the building wall that served as the plant’s rear entrance. 

“We’ll need to widen this,” he muttered after reaching the other side. “Come on, I’ll push, you pull.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around,” Roy muttered. “This is your operation.”

Dick flashed him a sad pout that made his soft lips twice as enticing. “I don’t have your strong arms, do I?” 

To Roy’s own chagrin, he flexed the moment the compliment left the vault hunter’s pretty mouth. He received a knowing wink after his chest ripples beneath his ragged vest, and that burned that this stranger had a read on him after a few incidental encounters. A deep enough understanding to know that playing to Roy’s selfish ego would be the best way to get what he wanted. Roy just learned the guy’s a two days ago.

“Fine,” Roy snapped. He placed his hands on the metal and heaved while Dick put shoulder and thigh to use.

Together, he and Dick grunted and groaned for long moments before stopping. The welded metal refused to budge. Roy kicked at it twice to test for weak spots and only got an aching heel for his trouble.

“You sure this is the best way in?”

“It's the only way in,” Dick replied. “Bandits scrapped the gate tech. They won’t budge.”

“Then it looks like we’re gonna have to come back because there’s no way we’re gonna get this hole wide enough for me to fit through.”

“Not with that attitude. Come on. Let’s try again.”

“Oh sure. Because that’s gonna get this three ton sign to swing wide open for you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I coaxed a stubborn something to open up for me.”

Roy grinned despite himself. “And how’d you do that?”

“I just told my partner how amazing that favor will taste.”

Roy laughed, delighted by the humor in Dick's voice. It was infectious, and he felt the strain and ache dwindle to nothing. “One more try. Count of three.” Roy set his shoulder and fet in preparation for another failure. On three, Roy put pulled with all his might, and right when he thought the task was impossible, a surge of strength filled him. He could totally bring this wall down. He just knew it.

The sign creaked and groaned resisting as hard as it could before warping outward. Roy stumbled back a few paces staring at the now walkable entrance. Dick poked his head around the edge and grinned.

“Well, I’ll be a hoppin’ varkid,” Jason panted.

“See, I knew you could do it. Now, come on,” Dick hissed before disappearing into the wall. Roy followed with ease.

Inside, the overhead lamps flickered painting the vicious havoc that had blown through the band base. Blood and ammo littered the narrow pathway between bodies curled in final rest. Roy followed the carnage back to the faded blue scarf trotting deeper into the dark, eyes incredulous.

“You do all this by yourself?” Roy called, because there’s no way. Running tally of the dead rests at 15 right now, and there was bound to be more. Roy’s not that good. No one was that good.

Roy looked at the bodies again, their still forms lying under the moving shadows, and shivered. Under his breath, he asked, “You sure you even need me, blue bird?”

Dick paused at the top a staircase leading underground. He looked over his shoulder, and the good-natured façade seemed long gone now. It was replaced by the grim surety found in soldiers who survived. 

“From here on out, no. You should probably stay put until I get back. Shouldn’t be a minute.”

“You sure it’s safe?” he hissed. 

The grinding hiss of the power converters were the only answer he had. Dick had disappeared down the steps leaving Roy alone. He frowned considering his choices. Either stay above ground in the presence of the dead or follow the unknown quantity further into an unknown situation below ground. Neither option seemed satisfactory.

Roy spat off to the side. This rotting planet would be the death of him, he’s sure of it, but only because he was too curious and too dumb when it came to pretty faces. He stared down the stairs inhaling the thick blood scent and stillness radiating up from the darkness, then descended.

Glass crunched beneath his boots as he stepped into the basement. It was everywhere, shattered panes at regular intervals. The above-head lighting had been shot out, but the red emergency lights surrounding the exits still glowed. That light revealed strange slashes against the stone walls. More bodies slumped in the corner. Dark fluid spilled from long slashes across their necks. Others had been missing limbs torn cleanly from their torso. Ahead, Dick was barely discernible in the darkness, a strange shape waving his hands slowly from side to side. His voice echoed quietly beneath the rumbling of the plant come back to life.

“Pretty sure I told you to stay put.”

“Never good at taking orders. Did I ever tell you about my mission to the Lower Quad on Bitoral-12?” Roy was ready to launch into the sprawling tale, when a dark growl rolled through the air. He stopped mid sentence, grin sliding from his lips. “What the fuck was that, Grayson?”

The sound repeated, louder than before. Angrier. Dick spun toward the darkest corner of the room.

“There you are,” he said, in a voice that was entirely too cheerful. “I’m back and I brought a friend to help me. His name is Roy. Roy is going to stay right where he is, calm and not at all threatening, okay?”

Silence but for the churning machinery and Dick’s soft steps. Roy searched for whatever Dick had come back for or whomever. He shifted his weight and the glass popped beneath his feet. Dick stopped moving, and Roy did too.

“I promised to come back and I did,” Dick says, voice coaxing. “Please talk to me.”

The air hummed with anticipation, thick, viscous heat rich with blood sickness. Sweat trickled down the back of Roy’s neck. Tension coiled through is body like a whip, the same sensation that saved his life more than once, and he knew that they were not alone. Something was watching them, and then—

“Grrrrayssson.”

The voice came from the farthest corner, a deep, raspy sound from a throat in desperate need of a drink. Roy swept his hand down to his waist and cursed. His pistol was missing. He switched hips and his light crossbow was gone too, replaced by a heavy rope clipped to his belt. When the hell….

“Vault hunter!” Roy’s growl was matched by a hiss, loud and  _ inhuman _ .

“No weapons and no fast movements,” Dick warned. “We’re just going to help my friend here, and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Fffriend. Grraysson’sss fffriend."

Dick approached the corner slowly then crouched at the edge of darkness. “You remembered,” the surprise in his voice did nothing to instill confidence in Roy. “I’m  _ your  _ friend, and I brought  _ my  _ friend to help me help you.”  

“Help. Me.” The repeated words sound hesitant, suspicious. 

“Yes. Just like I promised. You’re not alone, not anymore. Can you stand?”

“Hnnn. The pain. Will not ssstop me.”

Now that his eyes adjusted, Roy made out a hulking shadow shifting from a curled position to upright. It wobbled a little and then steadied by the vault hunter’s hands before it unfolded up and up until Roy had to crane his neck to take in the full form. His eyes widened.

Since the advent of interstellar travel, humanity had become shorter with more bone density to withstand the pressures of space. Few crossed the 1.8 meter mark anymore, but this figure did and then some.

A terrible spark of knowledge struck Roy, one that now pieced together the claw marks and the heavy plating on the basement doors.

“Good. Good job, friend. We just need to get up the stairs and then we’ll leave this place.” Dick’s voice sounded strained, but soothing as they made their way back towards Roy. Dread, cold and sure, filled his gullet, but it wasn’t until they shuffled into the red light that Roy was completely sure.

“Flaming skagg tits,” Roy gasped, shocked to his core. “That’s a fucking labrat!”

Surprises rained down from the blasted sky every damn day on Pandora. He should tattoo that to his body next time. Maybe then the lesson will stick. 


	2. (Don't) Play With Your Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to @salvadore for the series title and the hand holding!

Roy stood in the gloom, fingers curled uselessly at his side, and bore witness to the abomination's dark rise like a nighmare bathed in savage mood lighting. They said fortune favored the dim and devoted, and Roy proudly claimed all titles. As such, he’d never before seen a live labrat and probably could have gone three lifetimes without the experience. He also regretted every choice in life he'd made that led to this moment. 

The damn vault hunter told him not to point a weapon at the thing, but the order went against all instinct not face a threat with force. He’s not really sure why he can’t move though. Maybe it was all the stories he'd ever heard about labrats and the mess they could make of a man started rattling around his head. Or maybe it was just the confounding sight of it all, the labrat hissing and swaying and vault hunter approaching it without fear. Dick was either recklessly lucky or plain stupid, and those traits were a threat on their own. 

Despite the obvious contrasts between them, Roy couldn’t decide which was more dangerous: the monster or the beauty beside it. 

The labrat’s sheer size made a case for itself though. Along with those overgrown toenails. It was tall, so tall Roy’s neck ached in its craned position to take it all in. Its chest seemed abnormally swollen with muscles. The fair skin was dosed in various sludge of red, black, and green. The loose camo pants, faded and belted at a narrow waist. A red hood hung over its head. Jet black goggles and red-tinted lenses hid its eyes, a loosened mask covered its nose and mouth, and blood-soaked rags wrapped around wrists that further blurred the line between inhuaman and humanity. The right wrist seemed human enough, leading to a dirty fist, but the left was blackened, twisted as if malformed, and five long claws extended from the fingers.  

The DAHL corporation worked hard to hide their connection to the failed eridium mining expeditions on Pandora. It worked so well that Roy hadn't heard a single whisper about it. During his fourth planetside contract with DHAL, Roy had heard ECHO logs filled with evidence. Over a period of long months, the DAHL miners began to change, becoming the stooped-shouldered, near-feral beings called “rats.” He'd heard it all; the last words of the miners trapped in the deep-water mines hunting for eridium in a futile attempt to secure the company’s resources; the cave in; the voices sliding into gibbering madness after being exposed to the mystical mineral. The rats had a degenerative memory and a penchant for beautiful, shiny things that led to an  unappeasable  hunger they filled with blood and flesh. In rare and most important cases, the rats exposed to highly concentrated eridium veins obtained strange powers that didn’t resemble the fabled Siren’s unlimited raw power, but seemed personally devastating now that Roy was close up.

No part of the siren could be compromised, captured, or charmed, not even their heart, much to the despair of poor sods like Roy, who waited with eyes on the horizon for his something worth fighting for. It didn't start the corporations from pursuing them and alternatives to their power. 

The voracious corporate conglomerates searched for an edge in their rapid race of status, power and security. That's why Maliwan started their Zero Project. Why Roy never discounted the strange "metal men" rumored around Luthor complexes or the disapperance of children with unique abilities across the outer rim. DAHL was no different. They wanted to know only two things about the mutation: how it occured and how quickly could they replicate the transformation. When their experiments on the miners failed, DAHL harvested their ranks of soldiers and mercenaries in a mad bid to create superior soldiers. Labrats were the results. 

Pandora’s promise had died at the end of that gig, and Roy left DAHL shortly thereafter, sliding from one grimy enterprise to another as he tried to find a way off this rock. 

And that’s how he’s spent most of his five years stranded on Pandora. The fight. The survival. Beating the odds. Waiting for a sign of life in this world, in his future. Maybe even in himself. 

If Roy was being honest, and he was desperately walking that lonesome road for the better part of a year now, it was why he followed Grayson into the Badlands. He needed the challenge of danger sought rather than the wait under a murderous sun while he waited for his sense of purpose to return.

Vault hunters. They searched for vaults, those mythical treasure troves of forgotten technology hidden by a civilization long lost. They traveled on the winds of chaos, bringing unimaginable change behind them. And sometimes, just sometimes when a jackholes appeared with more mind than bandits outside the gates, they brought something more precious than their cash, their stories, or their promises. Sometimes they brought hope. Being a part of that, however briefly, would be another good thing he could add to Roy's embarrassingly short list of good works.   

Grayson said he would bring the station back online, and he lived to tell the tale. 

So yeah, Roy thought he’d be helpful. Help the cause and the burgeoning outpost. Get a couple of things in exchange, like information and company, because Dick Grayson was good for both.

A labrat was never a part of this scenario.

“Is this fucking real? Did you really come all the way back here with like flaming skaggs were on your tail to  _ pick up  _ a fucking  _ labrat _ ?” Roy hissed, watching as the vault hunter led the labrat to the stairs. 

“I told him I would,” Dick said. “And as you can see, I keep my promises.”

“That’s a hanging load of stalker shit. Rats are barely even human anymore. They fucking  _ eat _ people. And you’re just gonna help one leave this place? Like a real fucking rescue mission? No way. I don’t buy it.” 

They continued to the stairs, ignoring Roy and his rant. He studied them for a moment taking in the slow pace, the way Dick looked up, red light flashing over his face, and pointed to the steps. After a moment, the labrat began to climb. Its movements a study of blood and misery. 

Roy frowned heavily.

“You know it or something? Or did you take part in of all this?” 

Some order of those accusations must be true, because Dick paused on the second step. 

Roy pressed on. “Is that what this is? You got it into this mess and now you’re getting it out?”

Dick finally turned and met Roy’s hard gaze. “None of those questions are on the right track. It’s actually much simpler. He saved my life. It’s my turn to save his.” And with that, the two mismatched companions sloughed up the stairs.

Weren’t nothing but a sight out of the most lurid of nightmares. Sass and tight pants leaning against a hulking experiment gone awry. Those two things didn’t match up, not in Roy’s head and not in the twisted world they lived in. 

Dick’s instructions could barely be heard beneath the labrat’s labored breathing. “One step at a time,” he said, in a voice that was almost gentle. “We’re almost free.”

A low grumble. “f-Ree.”

“That’s right big guy.”

He didn’t believe Dick’s vague assurances or his lie about a promise to return. And he certainly didn’t trust him, he couldn’t now that Dick had a pet labrat hanging off him. Clearly, that som’bitch  _ was  _ the bigger threat.

Maybe a week in the dubious company of Pandora’s latest vault hunting hero, Roy had learned something after all. 

 

* * *

 

They made it as far as the power station’s overhang, just steps outside the door, when the large hand on Dick’s shoulder tightened. He stopped to glance at the strange oddity that had been locked deep underground.

“You alright, big guy?”

His companion only moved to stand taller as he surveyed the divide between the station and freedom. After a moment, he spoke with his gravely lisp. 

“Sky,” he uttered throatily.  Dick tried to ignore the longing in that one word, how it echoed like morning’s call. 

“That’s right. You’re free now. You can see the sky whenever you want now.” Dick forced himself step forward, tugging the labrat as he moved, but the labrat didn’t budge. “What’s wrong?”

Beneath his palm, the muscled abdomen flexed outward. 

“But the outsside. Been so long. It fears the light.”

It was well afternoon, and the sun slammed into the rocky terrain. Dick had traveled to and from the station on foot and could attest to the heat. While the labrat’s head and face was mostly covered, his bare skin was pale beneath the gore and grime, and Dick thought the comment made surprising sense, enough that he understood.

It was a recurring theme since their initial encounter, Dick being surprised by the labrat’s ability to convey his thoughts and the humanity when at first contact, there had been very little apparent within him.

Finding the the secret entrance to the DAHL genetics laboratory had been an accident. Dick had been sliding through the shadows trying to assess the bandit’s positions and numbers. It had been a stray ECHO log at the end of a darkened hall that sparked his curiosity. He had listened to a mad, mysterious voice recount his progress to a weapon in joyously chilling detail.

The door to the lab had been sealed tight. Dick slipped inside with no trouble. More ECHOES waited for him inside the silent bunker. The few logs he’d retrieved had been dated from nearly three years ago with the first mentions of Project X and the soldiers they brought in as test subjects. The men and women whose records had been wiped, no names, no accountability, no one to mourn them. Seven development pods were deactivated and tagged as failed and terminated. The final pod had been filled with glowing green liquid and a long, tortured body floated within its depths. It was tagged successful, successful but unstable, and it had called out to Dick.

Although it felt like years, Dick stood in front of the tank for a short amount of time watching his reflection ooze over the tortured body behind the glass. Three years in a development pod. Three years without sunlight, warmth, touch. Been so long, indeed. 

He could have taken a picture, grabbed the recordings, and left. Instead, Dick stared at a life trapped behind glass, another victim of madness, another monster waiting to be set free. He grabbed the control setting and searched until he found a single command.

Palm spread over the glass, Dick voiced the command and then  _ pushed _ for good measure.

Activate.

The first twitch of life from the labrat contradicted the command Dick was given before he was let loose on the world like a thrown blade: Do not get involved. 

Dick had been tasked to find this kind of information, collect records of the disastrous attempts to colonize Pandora and yet, the truth saddens him as have most of the sad stories he’s collected on Pandora.

He returned his gaze to the world outside. There was no telling how much his new friend remembers of his life before Project X, but standing here in the shadows listening to him drag in a shuddering breath, Dick thought he might understand. Once, he’d feared his own freedom. 

“You have to move, big guy. The only way you’re getting out of here is through that door.” He pointed to the steel bowing towards the outside world.

The labrat gave a twitch, and then leaned its weight onto its heels. Under the right circumstances that stubborn display could’ve gotten a laugh out of Dick.

“No. We’re leaving. Let’s go.” He dragged the labrat forward. One step, a second step. Like the stairs, their progress was slow and steady. Then it came crashing to a halt. 

The labrat shuddered before dropping to the ground dragging Dick down with him. His huge bulk dragged dust and blood beneath him as he scurried towards the shadows.

“What the hell, man!”

The labrat hissed piteously. Dick glared at him and shouted over his cries.

“What’s wrong. Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” 

The labrat moaned. “Hurts. The light.”

Dick shrugged from beneath the labrat’s arm. “Stop that. Let me see.” To his surprise, the labrat stopped its motion and waited, shivering, while Dick scrambled back to his feet to assess the issue. The bits of skin he could see beneath the gore coating the labrat’s limbs was quickly turning red. He removed his pack and overshirt then rose to his toes and began spreading the material over wide shoulders. 

“This isn’t going to fit you,” he mutters. “But it should help protect some of you at least.”

Footsteps from behind. Dick dropped low and spun around to find Roy sliding out of the doorway. His face was creased in confusion and he huffed angrily because of it. “What the hell are you doing?”

“The sun's burning his skin. Probably reacting to the chemical stew he was resting in.”

Roy ambled closer, hands on his hips. “Just when I think this can’t get any more bizarre, it does.” 

“You wouldn’t hang around if I was boring, would you?”

“Would prefer boring to fucking deranged, if I’m honest. Rescuing this and now you want to protect it from the sun? Fuck. Guess you have to be if you’re a vault hunter with an ass like that.” Roy stepped back when the labrat hunched down beside Dick, growling.

“I can tassste you already.”

“What the fuck did you say to me?” Roy growled back, cheeks red. His raised fist signaled he didn’t need a weapon to throw down. Dick stepped between them, literally. 

“Roy. Let’s just go.”

“I’m not about to let a… a fucking DAHL mistake threaten to eat me. Not even for you, pretty boy.”

The labrat scraped its claws along the stone floor leaving behind deep gorges. “The meat is feissty. Fresssh.”

“Stop it,” Dick said, firmly. “Roy is our friend.” He put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back. The labrat swung his head towards Dick, and while the lenses shielded his eyes, Dick felt the angry heat behind them.

“Not.”

Roy clapped his hand together, breaking the tension. “That’s it. I’m out of here.” He stepped over the bodies sprawled beside their makeshift entrance and stomped back to the vehicle.

Dick resumed his place beneath the labrat’s arm and began prodding him forward. “Roy is a good human. You shouldn’t try and scare him. Come on, before he really gets mad.”

“I heard that,” Roy shouted. “And I’m already there.”

The technical rocked under the labrat’s weight as he swarmed up the side, hissing and clawing as he moved. He hunched into the shade cast the gunner’s cabin. Dick climbed in behind him and urged him to lay curled against the top of the bed. 

“I’ll sit here and help keep the sun off you,” Dick said, patting the hard metal beside his head.

A rattling sound filled the technical’s innards as the engine refused to turn over. Roy’s shout soon followed. “Vault hunter!”

“Hold on, Harper. I got it.” Dick scrambled through the window and handed the vehicle’s starter chip with an apologetic smile. “Had to make sure you didn’t leave us here.”

Roy snatched it from his fingers. “And my weapons?” 

“Beneath your seats.”

“How did you even.” Roy shook his head. “No. I refuse to be impressed by you any longer. This is the last favor I’m ever doing for you, Grayson.”

Dick grinned. “You mean it this time?”

Roy turned away without a word.

After initializing the technical’s start program and securing his weapons, Roy turned the vehicle back to the city. Dick settled into the bed and then leaned over the labrat, shielding him from the harsh sun as best he could.

The entire drive to the power station, Roy peppered him with questions. Their return held nothing but silence and the sound of tires rolling. If Dick hadn’t been so desperate to get back to the station, he would’ve never asked for help. He owed the man an apology on top of whatever else Roy decided would do for his payback. Judging by the curse Roy utters inserting the chip back into the steering module, it’d be big.

Soon, Rionatlx appeared at the foot of the badland’s eastern ridge. The outpost was terraced into the stone and spilled out to the ground in a patchwork of metal and adobe building connected by a chain of glittering lights. A high wall protected the people inside. Dick had enjoyed his two days surveying the place. It felt like a real settlement, alive with plan and industry, and he was looking forward to his return. A hot bed and a hot meal was exactly what he needed.

Instead of continuing down the undulating road, the technical turns west away from the city. Dick stirred from his thoughts. 

“Where are we going, Harper?”

“You asked for a private place. I’m taking you both there now before I fucking change my mind.”

“No,” Dick protested. “I meant a place within the city. Inside the walls.”

“I don’t think so,” Roy retorted. “We’ve got kids in there, Grayson. Families, survivors. People who are trying to build a safe place. You want to bring a beast home with you, fine but not there. Not if you can’t guarantee everyone’s safety.”

“I just did,” Dick snapped. “The station’s up and running. Couldn’t have done it without him.”

“Not part of the deal.”

“It damn well should be! I went out there and cleared that plant so those very people could have a chance. I’m not asking them for money. Just a place for us to stay.”

The technical rolled to a stop. Roy met his gaze in the rearview mirror.

“You agreed to my help. This is it,” Roy said. “Old Man Holt’s place is close, clean, and abandoned. Take it or leave it.”

“Take it or leave it? Are you fucking kidding me, Harper? Do you know what I--” Dick inhaled deeply. 

It had been a long, harrowing day and his patience was fraying. He felt the cultivated calm surrounding his center ebbing away, exposing the anger inside. He wanted to argue. He wanted to  _ shout  _ his point into Roy’s stubborn head because he could, because it would be so easy. 

A light touch at his knee sent the thought scattering. He found the labrat gazing at him from behind those dark lenses.

“Hisss sscent. No liesss. Just. Conviction.”

At least someone was convinced.

Dick stared at the landscape scrolling by. He wasn’t accustomed to compromise, not when dealing with the people around him. They were tools to be used. Secrets to be exploited. Thoughts to be consumed. If he simply let go for one moment…. 

No.

Dick exhaled slowly, releasing the tension building behind his head.

“Fine. Take us to the cabin.”


	3. Allow me to reintroduce myself...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i present to you chapter 3 in honor of boarderlands 3's official announcement.

Old Man Holt’s place sat opposite the outpost, a lonesome dot barely visible to the naked eye.

The technical crept over the last outcropping and rushed down to the flat plane below. It bounced and jostled Dick against the flatbed, which was only marginally softer than the labrat strewn beside him. Dick hissed, scrambling his feet to brace himself while Roy yelped wildly as he fought against gravity, momentum, and the single eye of Starro itself to keep from flipping the vehicle.

Finally, they came to an abrupt stop on a flat cliff overlooking the river bluffs below, and the technical cut off with a quiet hum. Roy swung out of the cab announcing, “we made it,” in a satisfied voice.

Dick stood, arms raised in a much-needed stretch. “Did you aim for every rock and pothole on the way up or are you just lucky?”

“Pure skill,” said Roy. “They call me Sure Shot because I always hit my target.”

Dick didn’t even bother to look at him before replying. “No one here believes that.”

“Well, they should call me Sure Shot.” Roy groused. He headed towards the massive red rocks beyond the cliff point. Dick followed his movements with narrowed eyes.

Their lodgings were a long, narrow building barely the width of three men topped by a sloped metal roof. Shadows covered the painted metal jutting from the red stone leaving a greasy film everywhere it touched. The longer Dick looked, the more pronounce his frown became.

“This is it?”

Roy grinned proudly. “This is it. Come on. Let me show you how to get the generator going.”

Dick glanced at the labrat, who remained in the same position since leaving the power station; shoulders hunched and face tilted away from the clear sky. It didn’t take a lot of mental calculations to understand all the problems that could arise in sharing a small space made of thinsulate with a hulking man. “There’s not enough space for the two of us.”

“Once you get inside it’ll--”

“Inside what?” Dick snaps. “That shack? It’s the size of an escape pod.”

Roy spun on his heel. “Hey now. Save the attitude until after I get you set up.”

The anger Dick had previously choked back flared inside his head. It pulsed like a slow, dull wave, like the heavy sun beams that hammered his mad dash over the dusty hardscape. He’d spent a full day creeping around the power station searching for information and tracking the bandit movements inside. It’s how he located the secret entrance to the underground laboratory where he’d lost another day reviewing the echo files and logs. Then he rescued the experiment, put down the bandits, reconnected the outpost to the power grid, and ran all the way back to the town. And this was his reward. Dick’s lips twisted in disgust.

Dick dropped to the ground intent on following Roy to the side of the shack. He didn’t do it for money or gratitude. It just so happened his job aligned with the needs of Rionatlx, but he’d thought the unlikely acquaintance with Roy and the way he restored power to his town would’ve gotten him a little more in the way of comfort. He deserved a little more comfort.

Ahead, Roy swipes at the back of his head once, twice like he can feel Dick’s stare boring into his skin.

It would be so easy to just fix this. All it would take was a simple touch.

The groan of straining metal sounded behind him. Dick whirled on his feet, stance dropping low, only to find the labrat climbing from the truck bed. The labrat releases the sides revealing the exact shape of his fingers and claws gripped into the vehicle. He twisted his head from side to side taking in the hard stone and withered brush. He stumbled until he stood over Dick, so tall Dick barely reached the lowest point of the labrat’s collarbone. It sends a shiver down his spine, being dwarfed by this strange creature behind the mask. A creature half again as wide as Dick and looming.

“What is it?”

Anger still churned inside Dick, hot and burning, but he knows how to handle that feeling, knows how to channel it into something cold, remote, thoughtful. He can look at this brute of a man and remember the impetus of his personal mission.

As if sensing his shift in mood, the labrat stooped lower. “Go. Inside,” he said. “Outside. It hurts too much.”

“You don’t need my permission. We’re in this together, remember?”

The labrat whined low in his throat, again when Dick merely watched him. When it appeared that neither would be moving anytime soon, Dick sighed.

“Go then,” he said. “I’ll get my shit.”

“Safe,” growls the labrat, causing Dick’s lips to quirk.

“I’m sure it will be once you’re in there. Go on,” he adds when the labrat cocks his head. “We’ll be right behind you.”

The labrat slunk towards the shack, a ponderous shuffle that ignored the shape of the land and Roy, who scuttled out of his path. Dick’s shirt looked little more than a rag draped across his shoulders. He shoved the door open with the sweep of one hand, then ducked inside.

Roy pointed to where the door bent at the hinges. “Damnit. I’m charging you for that!” 

“Add it to my tab,” Dick muttered. He stalked past him, gravel crunching underfoot, ready to see his favor up close.

Fading sunlight spilled through the open entrance, illuminating the windows and the chalky-red floor. It became pitch black further in, belying the narrownewss posed by outside. He couldn’t even see where the labrat disappeared.

“So…. This isn't what I was expecting.”

Roy dropped Dick’s satchel by the door. He flicked a switch on the wall, and the a soft glow filled the space from recessed lighting in the walls and ceiling. “Yeah. Let me take you on the tour.”

Upon entering, the first thing Dick noticed was the temperature drop. The four rooms were built within the rock, planes and walls scraped smooth by technology. Roy walked him through the buildings four rooms. Each room were carved from the stone, walls and edges shorn smooth, corners rounded. Heavy storage containers sat along the wall of two rooms-- either empty or rations, Roy explained. The third room held furniture that Dick and Roy pulled into the wide front room. Most of the furniture was handmade. Bits of shipwrecked supplies cobbled into something functional. He pretended to admire the chairs created from shuttle seats and the layered window shutters made to collect solar energy and protect from dust storms. They located the labrat in the room furthest from the entryway, sitting in the corner with his head bowed. He barely stirred when Dick opened the door, so he let him be.

Out of surprising resources found in the shack, the piped water stole Dick’s attention. It was temperature controlled and it burst into the deep sink with a steady purpose. Filtered water without the Pandora stink and grit that locked in the teeth.

At last, his annoyance faded, and he walked around the small house a second time with a little spring in his step.  

In all, the structure looked like it was built to last. A deft mixture of mechanical knowledge and engineering to create the solar array powering the building and integrate it into the stone undetected. The workbench, the careful organization of tools spoke to someone who anticipated more work. More ways to use their hands to create. To build this home. Dick frowned.

“What happened to Holt?” He called, curious.

“He got adopted by a family and moved into town when the bandits took over the power station.”

“You have him working for you yet?”

Roy mirrored Dick’s position on the wall and crossed his arms. “He’s being taken care of. Why?”

“Sounds like someone to know,” Dick said, making a mental note to follow up with Holt next time he visited the town. “How is the water clean?”

“New filtration system.”

“Proto-typed here, I bet.”

“Could be,” Roy said, mildly. “Any more questions?”

Dick nodded to the heavy metal case tucked in the corner. “Just a few. Is that his weapons cache over there?”

“It’s mine. And it’s locked,” Roy added when Dick’s eyes took on a speculative gleam. “I’m turning this building and other abandoned homesteads into snipers nests. They’ll host four man teams.”

Dick’s eye swept over Roy and then out to the vista, the flat open land leading to the town. Perfect views of the roads. Plenty of hidden angles along the way. “A kill box.”

“And an escape point if the town gets overrun. We started overhauling our entire defense plan after the bandits took control of the power station. Holt’s helping with that. He’s updating the backup generators, working on a solar array for alternative power, and creating a system of jump points for a modified fast travel system.” Roy ended with a shrug, indicating even more plans he might not be privy to, although Dick doubted it.

In the short time they’ve known each other, Dick found Roy always knew more than he let on. He was also a perfect source of information that could be primed with the right questions. And he was fun to talk to, easy on the eyes. Dick leaned against the wall and considered the work benches and the empty tool wall.

“Holt’s an engineer then?”

“Yep. Been freelance after leaving Hyperion.” Roy paused. “I get the feeling he did a lot more before joining them, but he doesn’t talk about it much.”

“Few people do. It’s like nothing existed before you come to Pandora, but we have to remember that there’s more out there.” Dick’s gaze drifted to the wide blue sky, and the faint sparkles of Hyperion lights covering the moon.

It was so long ago that Dick first came to Pandora. An experienced hand at information gathering, he started working his way through the free cities collecting stories of the strange and the bizarre events that occurred before and after the corporations left, but the planets denizens would always clam up. They kept their time before Pandora a secret trapped within their chest, and overtime, Dick felt the same way.

“There’s more inside of us too.”

“Maybe,” Roy said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Anyway. There’s rations, a small generator here, and a C.L.E.A.N. facility. Not too shabby, right?”

“Better than you probably should have after everything.” Dick paused. He knew what to do here, but the words seemed hard. He uncrossed and crossed his feet. “I reacted poorly to your kindness.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Roy scratched at the back of his head, a solemn light flickering in his gaze. “I know it’s not what you expected, I get it. And it’s not that I don’t trust you. You did something for us that no one else could. But Rionaxtl has families. Kids. I can’t take that risk, even if you’ve proven to tame the wildest beasts.”

Despite his earlier outburst, Dick understood Roy’s reasoning. Rionatlx had named itself as the brightest star in the Pandorian sky and fashioned itself as a beacon for those searching for a direction on this planet that Sanctuary couldn’t offer. Despite his good deeds, Dick only had his word to offer when it came to the people’s safety inside the walls, and that was severely undervalued on this planet.

“I wouldn’t go that far. Vault hunters just know how to deal with precious cargo.”

Roy laughed lightly. “Oh yeah. Big boy is a lot of baggage.” He glanced before returning his attention to Dick. “You sure you want to stay out here?”

“You managed to surprise me with this place, so yeah. I do,” Dick said, realizing all at once that he believed these words. This safe house is the perfect place for a temporary base of operations. It's close to the city--just under a three-hour hike--but remote so that his travels into the waste wo't be watched. And it's clean, useful, with enough space for the hulking passenger he'd pulled into his mission.

“I did right by you?” Roy sounded casual, but Dick felt the apology just beneath the words. He smiled in return to show no lingering resentments.

“Practically a suite at the Lexcelsior on pleasure planet Mudalia.”

Roy cocked an eyebrow. “Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. How did a guy like you wind up on the Lexcelsior?”

“Same as anybody, I guess. Purchased a ticket and boarded a shuttle.”

There was more to the story of course. Infiltrations meant absorbing a new identity, new mannerisms, performing for an unwitting audience. Even after all this time, he couldn’t think of the extraction, how so many things went wrong all at once. The scars still throbbed in agony.

But that was long ago, Dick thought, fiercely.

Roy’s eyes narrowed, and Dick can just read his face to know Roy is thinking the wrong thing. “Yeah, right. There are planets in the inner galaxy whose net worth ain’t even enough to let them in orbit of a Lexcelsior. You must be one loaded vault hunter.”

Definitely thinking the wrong thing then. Unbidden, Dick's anger begins to stir. A quiet voice from the past whispered in his ear. _It is not without cause that the strong despised the simple minded._ The strong hate how simple minds could be. How they always wound down the wrong paths to the wrong conclusions. The strong should control the simple-minded. It is to shape into some other thing. Something orderly. Something useful. Something _right_.

Dick shivered involuntarily and stepped away from the temptation.  

The room felt cooler now, the shadows stretching longer. Roy stepped back as if sensing the change.

“I see. Just keep a tight rein on it. Him. The second it’s a threat to those people.…” Roy left the threat hanging in the air. They glared at each other, Dick stubborn, Roy promising. At last, Roy turned toward away.

“I’ll be back in a day or so. Make sure you haven’t been eaten.” Roy flips his hand palm up and bows at the shoulders, briefly. Curious and Dick recognizes a Queen salute when he sees it. He follows Roy out and watches him climb into the technical.

With a final wave, Roy tilts the vehicle over the edge and lets it tumble free. Tail lights bounce and flair in the growing dusk, and in time, disappear.

Allowing someone the last word isn’t in Dick’s nature, but he let it go this time. He didn’t have a way to explain that he was safe here, not in a way to ensure Roy would understand. Dick wasn’t exactly sure himself. He just remembered the moment the liquid drained from the tank and the weak thud of a hand on the glass. He nearly felt the heat there, nearly saw the desperation on the veiled face, nearly heard the chaos of his fractured thoughts. Dick knew that he would save this one too.

Dick secured the door before heading to the back room. He taps on the doorframe of the one built furthest into the rock. “I’m turning on the lights,” he warned.

A soft bloom illuminates the space revealing the labrat leaned against the back wall, legs splayed. His head lifted, and the light reflected off his red-lensed goggles.

“Graysson.”

“Hey, big guy. You ran off before I could assess the damage.” He crouched beside him and slowly raised his hands. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Woundss heal. Hunger sstays.” The labrat’s voice lacked the frustration from before, but Dick eyed him warily. Roy’s words only joined his own apprehensive thoughts. But his instincts had proved right so far.

“So, you’re hungry? Anything in particular.”

Jason tilted his head, considering the question before nodding once, sharply. “Ssssalt, ssweat, blood. I crave. Hmm. But. None tasste like you.”

“Right. Well, that compliment will haunt me for nights on end.” Rather than give into someone else’s nagging fears, Dick crouched beside him.

“Is there something else you’d like? Something that’s safe?”

His forehead twists above the goggles and when he speaks, the rasping voice is unsure. “Body. Juice? Body juice.”

Dick searched the red-tinted lenses protecting the labrat’s eyes for a long moment. “How about just juice?”

“Just. Juice?”

“That’s right. Plain juice. From a fruit or something.

The labrat gave a noncommittal flick of its clawed hand.

“Juice it is. Okay, I can get you some kind of juice.” Dick eased the tattered shirt away from the labrat’s side, frowning the discoloration there. The bruises looked old, the skin tender. He gently presses a thumb down. He pauses when the labrat twitches, muscles becoming tight, ready to spring.

“Easy now. Easy. I have to see where you hurt to fix it.”

“Hnng. Hurt Here. Here.” The labrat touched his side, chest, and finally pointed a finger at his head. “But here. Graysson’s touch. Made better.”

It’s a first time Dick’s heard anything close to that sentiment. The novelty coaxes the corner of his mouth up into something like a smile He decided to add that endorsement to his embarrassingly short list of good works.   

“I’m glad. We need to clean you up and then see about that juice. And it’s time you pay up. Tell me your name, remember? I got us out after all.”

“My. Name.”

The masked face twisted away and the labrat stared at the wall for a brief moment.

“No name.” He ducked his head as if ashamed. "Cannot pay up. Grayson take back?"

“No, you don't have to go back,” Dick called, voice soothing. “You don’t have to tell me your name.”

The labrat shook his head. “Grayson want my name.”

“Hey, we’ll figure it out. It doesn’t have to be today. I just. I wanted to call you something nice,” he explained. “If you can't remember, you can make a new name.”

The labrat made a stricken sound, but Dick already knew it was the wrong thing to say. He’d once been nothing but a number, One, nothing but a position, the first, and he had taken it from another. But even then, deep inside, Dick knew he had a name. He reclaimed it and with it came a new life, a new purpose.

"My name."

The labrat's breathing quickened, chest expanding heavily. His breathing echoed in the mask, loud and increasing until it was heavy. Frantic. His clawed hand flexed and unfolded, then. He turns away with a groan. Shaking hands rose to clutch at his head. They’re dirty, the claws covered in blood, viscera, and dirt like he’d clawed from the earth and a hundred bodies reach this place to be brought low by the past. Dick understood that, the burning realization of the simple things you lost, the life you’ll never remember.

“Pictures. Words. In my head. They sssay. No name. No rank. Only green. Only orderss. Only.” He cut off with a heaving shudder.

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. You’ve made it out of that place. You’re free.” Dick spoke the word softly, with reverence because it mattered. “Do you hear me? You’re free.”

The labrat moaned sadly.

“No. Say it. Say, ‘I am free.’ Tell me you’re free,” Dick commanded.

“I. I.”

“I am free. You can say it. You can speak the truth.”

The figure moved suddenly, so swift Dick couldn’t read the motion. His wrist is caught and dragged up to meet the other’s broad, grimy palm in a crude parody of their first meeting. His hands were bigger than Dick’s, palm broader, fingers thicker, longer. Without the glass, Dick felt his searing warmth made from the augmented blood pooling through his veins.

Dick stared up at him, heart quickening in anticipation. Unseen eyes roved over his face. Focused. Intense. He could almost hear the tortured wail of the labrat’s mind as it struggled.

“Nineteen. Ssubject. 19,” he hissed. “Subject 19. Tesst date. Session Record. Subject 19. Begin.”

Subject 19. In his recordings, the pale-faced doctor called Subject 19 a suitable strain of stock. The doctor’s benefactor called Subject 19 a mindless warrior who had some worth. Subject 19.

Dick knew well that the primary steps in breaking the mind. Removing the identity was the first. Forcing another in its place was the next. The object became something else. Not a name but a number. Not a memory but a purpose. Soldiers, inmates, operatives, it happened to them all. The labrat became Subject 19, just as Dick Grayson became Number One. The first. The best. The only.

Alone.

He had regained his name, and so would this wretched man. Dick _pushed_ harder.

“No,” Dick said quietly. “We are not a number.”

The labrat shuddered, groaning. “Subject. 19. Will survive. Subject 19.”

Dick closed his eyes. _That’s not who you are_ , he thought in the quiet of his mind. _Remember_.

“I am free. I am free. My name.” The labrat paused, a shuddering wracking through him, and for a second, Dick see him fighting through the onslaught of green light and painful darkness that crowds his mind lifting, so strong Dick couldn’t escape the terror and then, the elation as it strikes. “Jasssson. I am Jason. I am free.”

Dick folded their fingers together and squeezed. “Welcome back, Jason.”


	4. C.L.E.A.N.liness is Godliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't apologize for the jingle guys. Jingling and hilarious (to me) punch lines are in my blood, However, spelling is not. The error has become a feature for posterity's sake.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Hey soldier! Hey!”

On screen, the soldier brought his bloody limp to a halt and searched for the disembodied voice. Finally, he turned towards the tall, metal convenience unit standing to his left lit in shining blues and whites.

“Are you talking to me?”

“I am talking to you soldier. You look like you can use a little assistance.” The camera pans in on the soldier’s sweaty face and the bloodied swaddling around his head.

“Have you ever heard of the clean machine?” asked the unit.

“What’s that?”

“That’s me, soldier. I am the clean machine. That’s C.L.E.A.N.” The word was spelled out in a jaunty rhythm, and in the background, music began to play. “Are you ready to get clean, soldier?”

“That sounds awful nice, sir, in a suggestive kind of way, but I have to ask.” The soldier’s gaze wanders to the right, narrowing, and then, in a stilted tone, he asks, “What puts the clean in a C.L.E.A.N machine?”

“I’m glad you asked, soldier.”

The box spins suddenly, and out of its doors steps a Showcase bot with a tall black hat and scintillating tie. It cheerfully doffed the hat before its voice plate lit up in song.  

“ _When the day has been long and the blood gets thick,_  
_Come visit us, we’ll fix you up in a tic._  
_Other products on the market can’t compare._  
_Take New-U for example, they digistruct your pockets bare_ ,  
_If you're looking for quality, Kord Retrieve can’t compete,_  
_But C.L.E.A.N will bring you back from your lowest defeat._ ”

The Showcase bot spun gracefully, then glided around the soldier in a neat box step.

_ “C is for caring because that’s what we are. _ _  
_ _ L is for lemimon-scented to hide your trip to the bar. “ _

The holo skipped, and so did the bot, hanging dully in the screen for a moment before pirouetting.

_“A is for abolution ‘cause we’ll wash the impurities away._  
_N is for N because we’re at the end_  
_Now why do you take this machine for a spin._  
_Baadabap ba, deedeleedee_  
_We’ll soak and scrub and rub ya ‘til your asshole gleams_ _."_

“Clean.” The bot sang in three-part harmony. A falsetto voice hit the top of the chord and then tumbled up the scale, singing, “Oh yeah, you’ll feel real cleeeeeeean.”

The halo ended with scrolling disclaimers. Dick turned toward the labrat towering beside him.

“What do you think?”

Jason hesitated before lifting his bandaged arm. Two thick fingers dragged down the C.L.E.A.N. unit’s open door. He growled, a heavy sound.

“No.”

Not entirely unexpected, but it wasn’t what Dick wanted to hear. After another trip around through the bunker, Dick had secured his few belongings in the west most room with the carved window that overlooked the valley. One deep, cleansing breath later, Dick realized he had a major problem. The two of them had amassed a tremendous odor. Since Dick didn’t want his new place, no matter how temporary, to smell like a skagg den, he decided to coax Jason into the cleansing unit.

It wasn’t going so well.

“We’re in pretty cramped confines here, and you reek. The C.L.E.A.N. machine is the best way to--” A loud grunt cuts Dick short.

“It’s real quick. And it’ll make you feel--” Another grunt, this time louder and more disparaging.

Dick swallowed back his exasperation. “What if I went in first? Showed you that it’s okay? Because you’re going to get clean one way or another.”

Gaze forward, Jason didn’t react, but he radiated anger barely leashed.

“I’m going in,” Dick says, slipping out of his jacket, shirt, and utility belts. “You don’t even have to undress all the way, if that’s what’s making you uncomfortable.” He gets out of his boots and peels his sweaty socks from his feet, wincing at the damp smell. Another to add to the miasma of stink that lingers even with the storm shutters and the door open.

Stepping into the C.L.E.A.N. machine, even with most of his clothing on, was a relief. The interior lights flickered on, and a velvety voice asked him to choose his cleansing cycle.

“Give me the works.”

The sonic wave hit him first, a burst of vibration that felt so good, he moaned in his chest. He felt the grit shake from his skin, and it was glorious. The works was the way to go. Water came next. Pure, clean, unscented water splashing over his head and shoulders in gentle pulse. He dropped his pants when the soap splattered his skin. A curtain of water rained down upon him, and he lifted his face, sinking into the gentle heat, the hiss and splash that crowded out the noise. The memories. And just as quickly, a heavy bang rocked the unit backwards dragging Dick back into himself.

“What the hell!”

The internal screens flashed orange, red, black in warning. “Exterior damage registered. Preparing combat mode.”

A high whine of metal crawled into Dick’s ear. He stoops for his pants before slamming the emergency stop panel. A final wave of water dumps over him before the door reopens.

Dick’s voice bounced through the room. “Jason. What the fuck are you doing?”

Jason whirls only to stoop closer. The red goggles trail up Dick’s body and back down again, slowly, but the emotions radiate from him in louder than ever. Anger, of course anger, next to rage, it appeared to be Jason’s resting state, but beneath the anger welled a deep pool of fear that suddenly spilled over, engulfing Dick before he could escape.

And in his mind's eye, he could see Jason’s fear.

Metal clamps squeezed his ankles and wrists. He could feel the tube sliding down his throat. His feet grew cold as the thick, green liquid began to fill the tank, rising over his knees, wetting his groin, tickling his chin. He didn’t want to go under, but the harder he struggled, the weaker he felt. He had to survive. He had to survive. The world turned hazy, green, and the last thing he saw before the tranquilizer carried him under was a hungry red smile.

Dick broke free of the memory. Jason curled over him, head tilted close.

“You are. Unharmed?”

Dick pushed wet hair form his face. “Yeah. Unharmed. Half-clean,” he muttered while soothing his pounding heart. “Jason. These units. They’re just to clean the body. You don’t have to be afraid them.”

Jason placed his hand on the door. His muscles bunched and then, Jason shoved the door shut. The motion sent the metal skating backwards.

“No.”

It was official. Dick was officially pissed by the turn of events.

“Fine.  _ Fine  _ . I’ll figure out something else for you,” Dick snapped, before stalking back to the storeroom.

After spending years inside the cool, green sludge of his development pod, Jason was adamant about refusing to use C.L.E.A.N. station. Understandable, relatable even, but it meant Dick had to forage through the storerooms for something large enough to accommodate Jason. And he’d do just that once he’d replaced his wet pants with a dry pair.

Old Man Holt’s workroom contained several Hyperion bins used to transport constructor interface kits. Clearing one out and filling it with hot water created a serviceable tub.

Now he just had to convince the man to get into it.

From his position crouched beside the tub and staring at the towering figure, the task felt daunting. The mask and goggles hid Jason’s expression, but Dick read his suspicion as easily as he could an 827 Wave modified for defraction.

“It’s not going to hurt you, see. The tub has no top, so you can get in and out.” Dick dipped his hand and waved it gently side to side before lifting. Droplets splashed over the gently steaming surface. “See. The water will remove the grime from your skin.”

Growling, Jason shook his head, but Dick would not be deterred. They had to share this space, and the nutrient sludge Jason had been encased in smelled horrible. Not to mention the drying blood.

“It’s easy. You just take off your clothes,” Dick mimed pulling his shirt off, “Step into the tub and then sit down. Don’t leave me hanging.” He tapped the water with his palm. It splashed gently.

“If you don’t, I’ll take it for myself.”

Silence weighed heavily around them, and then Jason shifted. A deep sound rumbled from his chest and then slowly, Jason unwound the bandages around his forearms. The pale skin faded into molten bruises the closer along Jason’s wrists and those bruises blended into seared flesh. The wounds stood out in jagged strikes. Brutalized by shock restraints most likely. Dick studied them closely until they’re committed to memory.

The hood fell away next. Jason’s hair tumbled free, black as tar and oddly stiff. His head was shorn unevenly at the sides and the longer strands hang around his neck in limp clumps. The elastane wrapped around Jason’s waist dropped to the floor. Without the makeshift belt, the camo pants slid from his narrow hips leaving Jason naked for his mask and goggles.

It was a lot to take in. Jason’s arms seemed a little too long for his body, his thighs a little too strong. His body looked overly muscled while also painfully thin; his cock too thick and meaty even while soft. Bullet wounds and flash burns appeared across his body, remnants of his time as a DAHL soldier. Looking closer, discolored skin peeled along the back of Jason’s hands and the bend of his elbows. Most likely from the infusion treatments to which he was subjected. There were other physical changes to continue to tell Jason’s story. He was tall and packed with muscles along his chest and thighs, but there’s a gauntness to his body.

It was a startling fragility Dick beheld, one that came when pulling the human frame up and out. When hollowing out a man to fill him for a terrible future.

One day, DAHL would be brought to justice, and their crimes against the Galactic Corporations United and their own people made known. Dick just needed to consolidate the evidence while he planned for a way off this rock. In the meantime, he’d continue helping Jason.

Jason tested the water with the bottom of calloused feet. Burn marks ran along the ankle as well, and Dick wondered if it was standard part of the process or did Jason fight. He assumed the later, after witnessing Jason rage in the dark, a brutal and efficient killer. Sharp eyes studied those wounds too and locked the image away for later.

The water rose to Jason’s navel when he finally settled into the tub. His body was stiff, muscles in tense relief as a soft pink color rose along Jason’s throat. Over time, he relaxed infinitesimally. When Dick tried easing away, Jason’s head cocked toward him, another growl rumbling in his chest.

“Sorry, big guy. I was trying to give you some privacy.” Dick eased onto his haunches, but the moment was lost. Jason sat, back straight as a long barrel, and his frustration edged into the silence. He made no other move to clean himself or anything.

“What’s wrong?”

No response. Jason continued to rest statue still against the back of the makeshift tub. His chest barely rose to indicate his breathing.

“Just try to tell me, big guy. Just try.”

Jason gave a harsh cry and then, “Fear. This. No orderss. No ssouvenirs.”

Puzzled, Dick tilted his head and tried to find the meaning in those words. “Souvenirs? Do you mean memories? You have no memories?”

“Yess. No memoriess for thiss. If I am wrong. I go back.” Jason spread a large hand across mask.

“You’re free, and I’ll tell you as often as you need. You’re free, and you’re not ever going back there.” Dick layered as much conviction in his voice as he could. It was a self-truth that sustained him for many years, a reality he would share with anyone he could. Because of this, the words echoed strongly within his mind, and Dick had to grip them tightly least they be pushed.

“Taking a bath is pretty easy. You just have to do this.” Dick began a new pantomime. “Look at me. You just have to do this.”

Slowly, Jason’s hand rose from the water and slid down his left arm. He moved to the other and then spread the water over his chest and neck, following Dick’s movements. Grime still trailed down his body, but it was a start.

The water quickly changed from clear to brackish, a fact to which Jason took exception. Grunting, he poked at it, earning a soft snort from Dick.

“That’s what you had clinging to your skin. We’ll change out the water. Or I will. Come on, up.” He stood, and after a moment, Jason erupted from the water like a volcano rising from the surface. Water snaked down his skin in thin rivulets, hugging the tight curve of his muscled abs and thighs. 

“I’ll just take the water outside and.” Dick stopped speaking when Jason climbed out of the tub, bent over, and picked it up. Dick followed the strain in Jason’s muscles and the trickles down his broad chest with his eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Just clean your feet before getting back in, okay?”

After refilling the tub, Jason settles into the water more quickly. His body still tensed, but he repeated the cleaning motions along his body with vigor. Finally, he turned to where Dick sat against the wall.

“Graysson.” The call was soft spoken, unsure.

“Hmm?”

“Again.” There was something different in that command, something lighter beneath the gravel-roughened tone, and it coaxed another amused sound from Dick.

“Sure, big guy, we can get you more water. I imagine you’ll be very clean after that.” He pushed to his feet and sidled up to the tub. The water was less filthy this time. He paused, considering. “Hey, Jason, do you mind if I take off your mask? Then you clean your face?”

Jason backed away as far as the tub would let him and growled.

“I just want to take off your mask.” Dick closed the distance between them, reach out to Jason, over his face. The muscles in Jason’s shoulders coiled and he jerked away and then huffed, twisted back to face Dick.

“I’ll move slow. Nice and easy. Say the word, and I’ll stop, okay?”

Jason’s breath quickened, but he sat still as Dick’s fingers grazed the back of his neck. He unclasped the buckle then eased the heavy mask from Jason’s face. It dropped  into his waiting hand, and he set it to the side, smiling up at Jason’s face. And he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Even with the heavy goggles obscuring the eyes and the rangy thinness pulling his face taut, Jason cut a handsome figure. His face was composed of a sharp nose and cheekbones, broad jaw, and full, pouting mouth slightly distended on the right side, giving Jason a perpetual sneer. The cause was single fang whose keen edge peaked from beneath his pale lip. A green tinge clung to the skin. Dick pulled a thin cloth from his inner pocket and after wetting it, began cleaning Jason’s face.

The stillness Jason radiated was shocking. Conditioning, probably. He was near motionless in the water with only the gentle puff of breath against Dick’s neck and the soft rise and fall of his chest to let Dick know he was aware. That and the gaze roving his own face. He can feel it, hotly curious, on his skin.

“That was easier than I thought,” Dick muttered, wringing out the cloth. He reached behind Jason’s head a second time to remove the goggles. “Now for this one.”

“No!”

Two large hands whipped from the water and caught his wrists. The pressure, heavy and inexorable, ground the bones together.

There were many lessons impressed upon Dick while at the Conservitum, but the second most important was this: protect your thoughts behind a mask that is your body and your mind. 

At a young age, Dick learned to control his physical reactions by projecting various masks that suited him best, calm, charm, serenity, and once the mask was affixed to his mood and manner, he’d go quiet inside. The instructors called it his inner space, and there, pain was but a drop in the silent void of the mind. They were consuming and they hurt. Not from the tight hold Jason had on his person. No, it was the wild shriek of fear rage horror radiating from Jason’s mind. It flared like a beacon of blinding light. It was different from before where Jason had merely projected the stray thought. There are no memories here, only raw, unadulterated emotion, so intrusive, so focused on Dick that he couldn’t raise a barrier between them.

The danger in those feelings attacked the edge of Dick’s consciousness, his will to survive awakened by a true threat. Now he faced a potential battle between threats: Jason and himself.

The base of his skull began to pound, the air around them began to heat.

“Jason,” he managed between grit teeth. “Let go.”

Jason shook him, a snarl overtaking his mouth. “Graysson can  _not_ look into my eyess.”

“You’re hurting me. Let go.” The words were meant to be calm, but they echoed in his head and in the air around them. Jason’s face twisted in pain, and Dick cursed, realizing he’d done more than simply say the words.

All at once the hands around his wrists unclasp, and Dick nearly tumbles into the tub. They stare at each other, Jason’s expression hard, Dick fighting anger and nausea.

It had been right there, and the razor thin control Dick bound himself by snapped. He might nudge, but he would never push in anger. He wouldn’t. He  _ didn’t  _ .

He’s not allowed the time to figure it out. Jason swept an arm wide and pushed Dick away from the tub.

“What is your problem?” He snapped. But Jason’s attention no longer on Dick. Instead, Jason stares at the bathwater.

A ripple spread out across the surface, then slowly, a small section crest upwards as if pulled by an unseen force. It rolled into a small bead and that bead rose up from the tub to join a dozen other water droplets hanging motionless in the air.

“Shit.” Dick focused. The water ceased it’s wobbling journey into the sky and fell back like rain, splashing gently over Jason’s skin.

Several excuses sped through Dick’s mind. He discounted everyone except the truth: the further down the path away from the Consortium, the longer he was free, the less he felt in control of his emotions. The less he had control of his curse.

His benefactor had been wrong. This mission to Pandora wouldn’t help Dick. It would destroy him.

“Apologize.”

“Excuse me?” Dick asked, voice sharp.

Jason’s brow furrowed. “ _Apologize_ ,” he repeated, roughly. “Apologize. You. Are not to be hurt.”

Dick closed his eyes. He needed to rest. When they opened again, Jason still sat in the tub, fists hovering above the water, shaking with unnamed filling. Well, he’s Dick responsibility, isn’t he? Dick pushed to his feet and grabbed the spigot from the wall.

“I accept your apology, okay. It’s over and done. Come on. Let’s finish up here so you can eat and I.

“I’m going to rinse your hair. Then we’re done.”

The water ran pale green over Jason’s neck and over his shoulders. Dick scrubbed the scalp gently, then pushed the thick hair forward, exposing the nape of Jason’s neck. Dick knew better than to let betray him, but the sight nearly drew a gasp from his lips.

A serial number stained the skin in blood red ink. They followed a small insignia, a black circle with a stylized letter W in the center that some called the bat symbol. Dick brushed his thumb over it.

“Wayne Corps,” Dick muttered. “Just who the hell are you, Jason?”

It was a question Jason could not answer, but then, who knew that better than Dick?

 


	5. The Man with the Wayne Corps Tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BLACK EXPANSE OF NOTHING. GREEN AT THE EDGES. HE FINALLY SEES JASON WHO IS JASONING HIMSELF. 
> 
> Or
> 
> We learn more about Dick while Dick learns more about Jason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary is from an outline note that I wrote while on the cusp of sleep. This update is only marginally more coherent.... I hope.
> 
> A little rushed, but I had a goal of getting this out before Boarderlands 3 dropped. Fingers crossed that I can get the next part out soon!

Their strange tableaux ended the second Dick’s fingers brushed over the Wayne Corps tattoo. The calm carefully built between them slipped its tether and all the tension resumed. Jason’s muscles coiled like a spring, and he shot back to his feet, awesome frame crowding out the light.

They stared at each other for long moments, Jason panting heavily, and Dick preparing to defend himself again. With effort, Dick forced away his annoyance at the labrat’s strange temperament reappearing. 

“What’s wrong now?” he asked, coaching his voice to be softer, unabrassive. When Jason didn’t respond, Dick pressed. “Is this like your goggles. Should I not touch?”

“No. Your touch. Feels good.”

“Then what is it?” 

Jason grimaced, his forehead furrowing deeply. “It is," he paused, soft mouth parsing over the hungrily syllables. "Important.”

The word echoed loudly inside Jason’s mind, so loud it reached Dick without coaxing. Different from the hissing rasp of Jason’s voice. Lighter, clearer. 

_Important._

Jason nodded to himself, pleased. "Yes. Important." 

Dick leaned forward, intent. “What is important? The tattoo?” 

“It is important,” Jason repeated, louder this time, and the echo returned, fading in contrast, submerged; _Important._

“Why? Why is the tattoo important?” He frowned when Jason turned away. “Do you remember why it’s important? You can tell me.”

But Jason merely stepped from the container, water sliding down his muscled back and stalked out of the room with the metal crate in his arms without a single word.

From the window, Dick watched as the container used to store digistructed machinery parts was swung through the air as easily as a raaks wing, then emptied and refilled. Jason spent much of the evening arms curled around his knees and shoulders hunched in the water while the shadows crawled down the cliffside. He was a deceptively docile giant, one with an unexplored amount of power sizzling through his body.

There were only three resources deemed necessary to consolidate intergalactic dominance: money, influence, and allegiance. Combined, they created power, and life was an endless race to amass resources enough to wield it. Entities like the Consortium dealt in influence while Torgue courted allegiance from its consumers. According to the exchange, only ten corporations have the resources enough to command change, and of those ten, only five truly mattered: Atlas, Hyperion, DAHL, Lex Industries, and Wayne Corps, and rumors said that Wayne Corps was losing ground. 

The Intergalactic Court was the only thing that stood between the corporations and their endless rampage; and that was only because the IC was too old and too entrenched, protected by the bureaucracy of civilizations past, a true remnant of the Precursors. The corporations power was omnipresent, demonstrated by the sheer number of star systems emblazoned with their names. If you were born on an Atlas planet or if you chose to leave the increasingly rare free-colonies to join the Atlas corporation, you became a part of the Atlas system. Tattooed inked and allegiance pledged, you remained until you died.

No one with a Wayne tattoo should have even set foot on the Pandora. The corporation had lost the opportunity to take part in the planetary colonization effort in Intergalactic Court, more evidence of their slip in stature, and their appeal had been revoked. Even their bid to fund the rescue project had been rejected. To see the tattoo displayed so prominently on Jason’s body had been jarring. 

Sighing, Dick grabbed the clothes Jason abandoned and throws them into the C.L.E.A.N. machine along with his own things, then turned the laundry dial up to eleven. It took three washes to eliminate the green tinge from the ragged fatigues.

At least the place didn’t stink anymore. 

* * *

 

If it’s for cleanliness or the familiarity of being suspended in liquid, Dick couldn’t say, but after his initial foray into clean water, Jason would spend at least an hour of each day bathing. He ambled from the dark interior to the main workspace mid-morning, shucked his clothing by the door and padded outside to fill the container. He returned, dripping water on the floor, to settle at Dick’s side and watched him tinker with Old Man Holt’s equipment.

Today, Dick worked on a replicator unit that Holt had left behind. It was a mishmash of parts; the eye of a constructor unit, the velocity system and Tesla coils from an ION loader, and the housing of a Hyperion shotgun. Fitting the pieces and parts together was Dick’s way of passing time while planning his next foray into the badlands. He wanted to give the bandit enclaves time to settle back into their routines before attempting to infiltrate another stronghold. 

Bandits were a mix of former soldiers and colonists who ran wild after the authoritative fist of the corporations abandoned the planet. They’d fall back into their training for a week or so, but it would only last for so long before the urge to riot took over again. Another three or so days should be enough. He had projects enough to keep his hands busy, and he’d worse company in the past.

Most would find the near constant scrutiny grating, but Dick had been raised under the quelling gaze of the Consortium where his thoughts and actions were never his own. Compared to that, Jason’s presence was downright pleasant. Except for the mystery he had uncovered, inked into Jason’s pale skin.

For a soldier of Wayne Corps to appear as part of a DAHL operation represented an impossibility. Members of the Wayne alliance were all good soldiers, smart, resourceful, and loyal. Everyone associated with Wayne was so fucking loyal. Dick hadn’t understood it at first, until then he’d met the man. Jason’s tattoo was intact, which implied he hadn’t cut ties with Wayne Corps. He wasn’t a wage-jumper. And he couldn’t be an operative like Dick, not with something so obvious on his body. Death was the kindest ending for people found siphoning corporate secrets. It was one of the reasons many Dick gave when he rejected Wayne's offer of his own tattoo. 

But Jason had one, kept his maybe. They were connected somehow, and the idea of having a connection with someone after being stranded on Pandora for so long stirred strange, emergent feelings inside Dick. They wrapped around his chest and squeezed tightly, reminding Dick an emotions that echoed through the minds he once controlled: guilt and regret. 

It wasn’t until Dick took his first mind during a contract that Dick became aware that there more than the three emotions conditioned into the operatives until he took his first mind. He tasted fear then, recognized it in the low thrum in his chest when the trainer wrapped a hand around his throat and squeezed until the breath left his body, when a white-masked handler entered the room to select Dick for another mission. The Consortium had named that feeling fury. 

Other emotions he learned during his missions. Once the Consortium discovered Dick adaptability and ease he exhibited skimming minds, they began refining his talents for infiltration. He spent hours skimming through minds and consciousness, observing memories, shifting through the weakness of the mind to divine secrets, extract information, and impart commands. He touched happiness for the first time he could remember in those training sessions, compassion, kindness, loss. And it surprised him to know that he had already experienced loneliness too. Often, he felt the pain of being alone. Playing through the memories of his targets showed him this was not the case. Most sentient beings did not enter the world alone.

It made him curious, and eventually, his search for answers about the past set him free. He wanted to experience that moment over and over again, the knife moving through flesh, the veil lifting through his mind, awareness buzzing through his veins like lightning. Freedom. He fought for it everyday, for himself and others, but it wasn’t the same.

Finding Jason had been the closest to recreating that moment. 

In the ensuing days, Dick tried asking questions about Jason’s past for answers. _Do you remember where you come from? Which colony did you call home? Your assigned allotment on the colony? Parents, friends, family? Lovers?_ But even with Dick glancing at the outer edges of Jason’s thoughts where impressions and stray thoughts typically gathered, no answers came forward, not even a flash of a name or an image. Jason’s mind was basically a dark well waiting to be filled.

It was that very trait that swayed Dick into the impulsive decision to release the labrat from beneath the power plant. Rare was it that he caught thoughts or emotions passing through Jason’s mind, and when they did appear, they were small things. Nothing to tempt him with. And he had been sorely tempted since arriving planetside. 

The Consortium had outlined the foundational methods to infiltrate and manipulate the mind as passive receptance. They honed in Dick the precision to alter it, to infiltrate, to dismantle, dominate and control. Many of his encounters were a test of his self-control. He’d thought he was complete, able to resist temptation. He’d thought himself beyond his training, but Jason was a reminder that he was not.

The line-welder in his hand sputtered to a halt, pulling Dick’s attention back to his hands. He flicked the power switch then the welding case, but it’s no use. The welder died. 

Sighing, Dick tosses his line welder to the table. Warm breath ruffled the back of his neck where Jason sighed himself, echoing Dick’s action.

“Harper must have taken all the functional equipment with him. Damn it.” Dick dropped his fist on the table. A larger fist drops beside his own jittering the equipment to the side.

“Damn it.” The phrase tumbled from Jason’s deep voice like a rock landing at the bottom of a chasm. His body flanked Dick’s skin pushing out heat like a furnace warming the back of Dick’s neck. “Grayson angered.”

“I sure am,” Dick replied. He smacked the replicator housing. “This is the most handy thing in this place, but I’ve got fuck all tools here to fix it. The housing, sure, but the wire work and small components. I can't do it. The pieces are to small to handle. And I didn't want to go to the outpost before hitting the next bandit stronghold on my list. It'd take too much time.”

Carefully, Jason takes Dick’s dominiant hand, the one using the line-welder, and when Dick didn’t protest, lifted it upwards. His hand was placed against Jason’s forehead. Droplets of water slid down the back of Dick’s fingers to his wrists. 

“Fix,” Jason rumbled. He pointed at the replicator. “Grayson fix.”

“Doesn’t work that way.” Dick shook himself free, muttering to himself. “If it did, I’d fix you more.” 

“Fix you more.” Jason repeated. “Fix me more?”

“Forget it. I can’t explain it and you wouldn’t understand.” Dick picks up the replicator in one hand.

Could he fix it without the right tools? Probably, but it would be a waste of his energy and his talents. Tactile-kinesis should only be used as a last resort as it trained physical reserves as well as mental. The Consortium lied about many things, but not this. Still, Dick practically overflowed with energy right now, had been since setting foot on Pandora. 

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Drawing a deep breath, Dick _focused_. The room grew silent, the air slowed, and on the table, the machine parts he’d spent the morning working with began to vibrate. One by one they floated into the air and began circling the replicator casing. The replicator wobbled up from his hand until it remained suspended mid air by Dick’s will alone. He directed the pieces into place with slow precision and the soft wash of the labrat’s breath on his shoulders. 

Soon, the replicator was completed. Rusted in some areas, and the pressure didn’t seal the case as neatly as the heated welder would, but the pieces were in place, wires connected, and the damn thing turned on. He taps in something simple, a lantern light, and with a flash of blue light and some electric beeps, the metal light-source began to form.

Dick let out a triumphant whoop. “Call me a varkids vag and climb on in it fucking works!”

“Grayson?” He can feel the curiosity radiating from Jason’s thoughts, dull and searching.

“This is a replicator. It can construct just about any everyday item. Like blankets. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been getting cold at night. Watch this.”

Dick replicated a blanket and a pillow. The fabric was soft and warm, and they smelled like fresh energy and carbonylon. Perfect. He tossed them to Jason, who stared down at the material, brow furrowed. 

“No more sleeping on the hard ground.”

Jaosn’s brow smoothed and he nodded once. “Good.”

“Now we can get you some better clothes. I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking sick of those fatigues.” They’re entirely too worn, threadbare with holes appearing each time Dick thosses their clothes in for a wash.

Dick fed measurements and, in three ticks, received a new pair of pants and a sleeveless, compact vest with a deep hood attached. He presented them to Jason with a flourish and watched as the bedding tumbled to the floor, forgotten. Jason carefully handled the pieces, staring at them intently from behind the goggles, and then he stood straight up exposing his complete lack of clothing to Dick’s eyes.

“Flaming skagtits, Jason. We talked about this! Keep the clothes on,” he hissed, glancing at the ceiling. “It’s for safety.”

“Safety. If we escape.”

“Yes. You don’t want to hightail it across the desert with no pants. Trust me.” 

And Dick is plum tired of seeing that heavy cock swinging free whenever Jason walked in from his bath. It wouldn’t be so bad if Jason weren’t so tall and he wasn’t so proportionate. Or if Dick wasn’t just sitting here with it leaning towards him at… forehead height. Maybe higher. Dick tipped his head back to measure but caught himself mid-motion. His neck flushed with color. 

Bending at the waist, Jason attempted to guide his feet through the leg holes without tearing them with his toe claws. Maybe a clipper would be the next thing he replicated. Jason pulled the material up. An extended tearing sound, sent DIck’s focused gaze down to Jason’s thighs and the massive holes popped at the seams.

He looked up again meeting what felt like Jason’s disapproving stare.

“Hey. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a pattern maker, and I don’t know your measurements outside of big fucking everywhere. Especially that d--” he cut himself off and turned back to the replicator. 

Maybe he really should have put more thought into the size of Jason’s thighs. He input two universal standard sizes up from his own measurements. Maybe he should’ve chosen three.

The second pair of pants fit much better everywhere except for the waist. Dick snatches Jaons’ old belt from the floor and manfully begins threading it through the loops once the waist began gaping at the front.

“You’re mighty thin around the waist to be so fucking thick everywhere else,” he muttered.

Jason’s hands enfolded Dick’s wrists for the second time today. They’re huge, like they could wrap around Dick twice if hands worked that way. The dark claws scraped over his veins, almost tenderly.

“Dick. I hunger.” Dick looks up quickly. The goggles are opaque, the look on Jason’s face, intent, but not worryingly so. Dick wasn’t about to be ravished, not that he worried about it. Jason was so meek like this. 

“That’s why I got this baby up and running. Let me go and I can get you some juice going.”

“Just juice?”

“Yeah, big guy. Just juice.” 

* * *

 

A broke the silent night, more pained and wilder than a lone skags mournful bellow. 

The instant Dick’s feet hit the floor his vibro-sticks rattled into the air and landed in Dick’s waiting palms. The scream sounded again, deeper, more wounded from down the hall. 

It was Jason.

Dick rushed down the darkened corridor. He burst through the open door, and the light snapped on illuminating the massive body shuddering on the floor. 

Terror filled the room, a tangible sensation that tried to crawl down Dick’s throat and battered at his shields. Jason lay with his head tilted back and his fists clenched tight, radiating heat like a small sun. He struggled against invisible bonds, wrists twisting against nothing, tensed muscles hauling his body up over and over again like he was trying to beat his own body through glass tube that encased him. 

“Jason,” Dick whispered.

Whimpering, Jason slumped to the ground, chest heaving and sweat erupting from his skin like a well through new soil. Seconds passed before Dick realized that for all the movement and sounds Jason made, he was not breathing. He reached out, body and mind, striking Jason’s chest and calling to him.

“Jason. Jason. _Breathe_ !” _Breathe_.

Jason rose from the floor, roaring, and his hand swung out, catching Dick’s throat and drawing him in to the fear and madness roiling through his mind. It raced through Dick, heat scouring his body all the way to the souls of his feet. His eyes watered, irritated by a constant toxic scent, and his lungs ached from screaming. His world went dark.

 _Thudum_ . _Thudum_.

A heartbeat. Fast with anger. Between the beats come flickers of light, the flutter of lashes. Jason opens his eyes, and Dick can see. Green. It’s oily, but then, a stain on the movements beyond the curving glass. The sound of a hand slapping the glass heralds the appearance of a face. 

Dr. Napier’s red lips spread in a smile. He was thinner than the echo logs Dick found, but his eyes were no less mad. He drummed his knuckles and crooned, “You’re doing just fine soldier. You’re doing just fine. A few seconds more. Just a few seconds more.”

Jason’s body jerked backwards. His heartbeat climbed. Dick moved forward, another step, and he broke Jason’s view and into the nightmare itself. 

The lab facility resembled the one shown in the recordings, but it was in much less detailed. The lab technicians were faceless, their movements distorted. The room felt bigger in the center and stretched impossibly long down the stone tunnels that ran beneath the power station. Every door was opened, and light shone at the end, soft. Beckoning. And from the light, Dick heard a voice, calling as if from an even greater distance. He was about to turn toward it, when Dr. Napier’s began to speak. 

“If my lovely assistant will begin the recording, we can begin.” The doctor spun around, and his face disappeared, but his voice swelled. “Test date, 496.72.71. Session Record. Test Group: Hyena. Subject 19. As a reminder, Test Group Hyena have been suspended in a trinitroxcelyn gas. It is my own special concoction that decreases the rate of eridium saturation by thirty percent." The doctor grins proudly. "Let’s start with the good, shall we? We have begun to see the first signs of genetic morphing due to increased eridium exposure. This includes an increase in height, muscle density. We also observe a new eridium deposit building behind the subjec's ocular sockets. This trait is unique to test the test group. We will maintain the eridium sample size and exposure time. 

"And now, my fellow future scienties, we must move on to the bad. Although Subject 19 is on the third week of the enhanced minocycline treatment, he has experienced few of the side-effects of the remaining test subjects indicating the conditioning is incomplete. I will demonstrate." Napier turned towards the capsule. "Subject 19. Provide your name, rank, and dispensation code.” 

Jason’s dark hair floated upwards when he lifted his face to glare at the doctor. His jaw was clenched and his eyes glowed.

“My name is Ja-- Jason’s voice cut out abruptly and was replaced by an enraged growl. “No. No!”

 _No_ , echoed the voice from the distance. _This is important_ . _The mission, above everything, the mission_ . _Bruce_.

The doctor's chilling laugh cut through the air. "Subject 19, are you still trying to resist? After constantly failing your fellow soldiers, yourself," his voice dropped mencingly, "me? 

“Come closer,” Jason rasped, “And I’ll give you an answer.”

Naiper grinned delightedly, and after clicking his heels, he walked back to the glass capsule surrounding Jason. The room grew dark, the other capsules and workers faded. Napier’s fist banged against the glass, then repeated his command.

“So stubborn. So courageous. So dull.” The doctor touches a finger to his lips. “If we upped the dosage, would that make you more docile?”

Jason’s fist crashed through the glass, skating by Napier and grabbing Dick instead. He was dragged forward, dragged down through a vat of green, viscous fluid that chills the skin.

“Fix me. Grayson, Fix me more.”

_Help me!_

_Dick. Please, I need more help_.

Dick shouted, “I can’t,” and the nightmare shattered around him. The lab lights grew dim, and the doors began to drop along the corridor. The final door dropped, and Dick was left alone in the dark.

When Dick came to slung across the thickly muscled chest of the labrat riding the great swell of his chest whenever he inhaled. His neck was bruised, there were claws tangled in his hair, and his next move solidified in his mind as clear as a guiding star.


End file.
